


Individually Wrapped

by sabinelagrande



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Angst, Internal Monologue, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-03
Updated: 2009-03-03
Packaged: 2017-10-06 10:51:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the ordinary things that get him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Individually Wrapped

No matter what he requests, the Daedalus only ever brings the king-sized Reece's cups, the ones that are four to a pack. He's not complaining, really- they're his favorite, and the memory of that first pinched year is still bright in his head. He remembers very clearly trading the very last of his alcohol and an unopened pair of Dr. Scholl's to Zelenka for just two of them, just so he could taste the artificial sweetness on his tongue and forget about Pegasus for a while.

The thing is, though, that John can't eat four peanut butter cups. He's tried, and he's failed- it's just too much. They don't save worth a damn, either, so it's like he's wasting a quarter of his snack every time he opens one.

These days, though, when he goes to open his Reece's, Rodney's always there- it's not like it's a _thing_, or anything, just that they spend a lot of time together. And even though John can't actually remember having ever offered to share with him, Rodney always swipes the last peanut butter cup.

And that's fine- really, John's fine with that, because obviously he has a surplus and Rodney has a deficit, and it's really, really not a thing.

Until they go to MKR-119- and it's not that the mission goes all that badly, just that there are bullets exchanged, and one of them comes about ten inches from lodging itself directly in the frontal lobe of the best mind in two galaxies. They haul their collective asses out of there without further incident- further incident for his team, definitely a lot of incident for the other side- and make it back to Atlantis in one piece.

And he and Rodney head for the mess afterwards for coffee, already disagreeing over the relative merits of Lee Meriwether and Eartha Kitt. There's a lull in the conversation; he remembers the orange package in his vest, fishes it out and tears it open, demolishing the first three candies at full speed. Rodney reaches out for the last one, and everything is like it always is- except that Rodney's hand has a long red scratch on it, something that wasn't there this morning.

John can't stop staring, like his whole world has narrowed down to the back of Rodney's hand. He thinks about firefights and dumb luck and things he won't see coming. He thinks about the Wraith, the Genii, the hundred other nameless enemies that it may take them years to find- but who will probably be there before sundown.

John thinks about a whole pile of abandoned orange wrappers, each with only one peanut butter cup inside.

It is the saddest thing he can think of.

Before Rodney can get his hands on the last peanut butter cup, John snatches the package away. "Get your own," he mutters, stuffing it into his mouth- and Christ, he's such an asshole, it's a fucking candy, for fuck's sake, not a metaphor for his entire life.

Rodney looks at him for what feels like an uncomfortably long period of time, raising an eyebrow and regarding him like he's just figured something out. "You are so strange," he says, shaking his head; but then he's detailing why Burgess Meredith is the one true Penguin, and John actually, maybe, relaxes a little.

Tomorrow, he tells himself. Tomorrow, he won't flinch. Tomorrow, he'll offer to share, and he won't make it a thing. Tomorrow, he might even let Rodney have the first one from the package.

But he doesn't want to get ahead of himself.


End file.
